Freedom Fridays – Hot Wheels

Considering we have been without Daddy Unyoung since Monday, this has been a surprisingly easy week. It hasn’t been without the usual mini dramas: the saying no to the train purchase tantie, the over-excitement of a dinner date meltdown, the filling the toilet with alllll the paper fun, the endless ‘whizzing’ of the train in circles for him to chase like a new puppy and the upsetting Mr Worky in the Cafe with his toddler antics. He has however, slept through the night, gone to bed without upset or challenge and slept through till at least 6:20am every day (I pray I haven’t just jinxed it).

This morning Daddy was due to get home from Miami at 7:40am but I shipped him off to nursery for 7:30 to avoid the upset of having Daddy home then having to say goodbye. It will be a lovely surprise for him when his main man is there to pick him up tonight. That is if we ever get there… Today my top three are dedicated to my top three car dramas.

One – Wreckin’ your Rims

It was not an exaggeration when I titled this piece ‘Hot Wheels.” In fact it was more an under-statement. Burning, smoking, about-to-combust wheels would’ve been more appropriate. We’ve had ‘The Beast’ since April and I was most happy with our vehicular purchase… until Christmas. When it all started to go horribly wrong. First it was the tyre pressures. They kept significantly dropping – despite being a new set in August. Off I traisped to the tyre shop.

When you hear “it’s not good news” you may as well start haemorrhaging cash. “It’s your rims.” OK. And that means what? Well – we can safely say that means potholes are bastards and any hope of affording a holiday is fading fast. I’m not sure what the road tax we pay is being invested in to as the local roads are pretty much like driving through the Australian outback in a Ute. You are forever swerving sinkholes that look like the entrance to Hades they’re so deep.

On to eBay and £1k later we have a new set. Back to tyre guys…

Would’ve been worth the grand had this have greeted me. (Photo Credit – Herb Ritts)

New rims fitted. Old ones in the boot. Reset and back to full pressure. I could now spend all those fifty pence pieces I’d been saving for the Esso Air Pump – we were rollin’ once again.

Two – Pads or Discs Madam?

Until the ‘check brake pads’ warning flashes up. Damn you sensitive technology – could I not have lived in blissful ignorance till the MOT. Of course not, when transporting my most precious load daily, but really? Lovely tyre guys (not as lovely as Mr Athena or I’d be slashing my tyres weekly) informed me the back pads were worn.

So, it was off to the garage. When someone asks you is it just the pads or the discs too – you know what the answer is immediately. Whichever is more expensive – that’s the answer. Surprise, surprise… It needed both.

What have I been doing to this vehicle? Anyone would think I’ve been rallying Harry to soft play and handbrake turning in to the nursery car park. Everyone loves a donut right?

Just popping to Tescos darling! ( Photo Credit – Slashgear.com)

So we are sorted now? Tyres happy. Brakes in full effect. Brilliant! Oh no, no, no, no.

Three – Feel the Burn

Wait until husband is out of the country… then everything can go wrong again. Tyre pressure warnings. Back to tyre shop. Definitely down as a stalker now. Pumped up. Sent on my way. Brakes started to smell of burning. Badly! Back to the garage. Checked it over. Nothing apparent. Reset the system. Suck it and see.

I sucked it. It sucked alright. Tyre pressure warning AGAIN. Back to tyre shop. On first name terms with the guys now. Tyre off. A nail! A bloody nail had wangled its way in. I have my secret suspicions that they litter them over the roads on exit.

That must be it – surely. But no! After I dropped Harry off things didn’t feel right. Every time I took my foot off the accelerator, the car pulled back. Luckily it’s only a few miles to his nursery as by the time I got home, the tyres were nearly on fire. The brake discs were glowing like the Eye of Sauron. Smoke was billowing from my under-carriage – well, that of the car. There was no gansta car-chase vibe – just an over-dramatic, flappy mum bawling “Christopher – get down here, the car’s on fire!” at the jet-lagged husband I’d not even said hello to yet. I should’ve added “did you get me any duty-free,” but I was too busy choking on the toxic fumes.

So my Freedom Friday is somewhat curtailed today. I could take Chris’s car out but I need to loiter with intent till the prognosis on ‘The Burning Beast’ comes back. It might mean I have to take the tube to the nursery to pick up the Wrigglet so pray for sunny skies please! Here’s what I know: I’m lucky to have wheels even if they’re going to bankrupt me; no car means snuggled in the warm; I have my husband back and he’s so on bath and bedtime duty tonight!

Have a fabulous weekend lovely people. Have you had any mini dramas this year so far, car or otherwise, that you want to get off your chest? Feel free to comment! And do let me know of any good mechanics who are happy to be on speed dial!

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